


Stamp of Approval

by mirroredsakura



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirroredsakura/pseuds/mirroredsakura
Summary: Usually Kyouya has to mediate some of the stranger things that Tamaki's brain can dream up. He's not exactly sure what to think about the King's new wriggly bits however... (The tentacles are perfectly friendly, well-behaved, and safe for work.)





	Stamp of Approval

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for takoyaoi_love Challenge: April 1st - Tamaki/Kyouya--generally he tries to humor Tamaki, but this is really pushing it.

Kyouya was a shadow king.  
  
If you really had to use Tamaki’s words for it, he was a queen, _the_ queen, but that was fairly emasculating and so he tried to avoid thinking it as much as possible. Even if he looked better in a dress than all the rest of the Host Club (barring Haruhi as that was a special case).  
  
Come to that, he’d done plenty of things he’d never thought he’d ever do since entering the Host Club. Express-ordering a collection of jungle animals and miscellaneous wildlife overnight for their one-time debut at a theme party. Using his family’s legion of private police to ferry baskets of crabs around. Partaking of strange and exotic foods like instant coffee and greasy WcDonald’s French fries... that may or may not have developed into a full-on guilty pleasure addiction right from first consumption.   
  
In hindsight, to the peers of his class, all of it might have seemed downright _alien_.   
  
Perhaps someone had commented about that, and it had filtered its way in whispered tones and behind raised palms, finally to end up in the Ouran King’s hearing.  
  
No crime in trying to do something about that, of course. Change was hardly a bad thing, especially when their Club prided themselves on the varied array of their themed parties. Haruhi had once tried to persuade them that there were some things money couldn’t buy.

...Precious girl, they all knew that while that may in fact be true for some things, possibly only for commoners, _beauty_ certainly was not one of them.   
  
Still. There was absolutely no reason to take it so very _literally!_  
  
*  
  
“What,” Kyouya asked, the first stirrings of horror and despair stirring in the depths of his soul, “horrible monstrosity have you constructed for yourself _now?_”  
  
No point in beating around the bush, was there?  
  
Tamaki’s triumphantly beaming face fell immediately. Somewhere, somehow, a light bulb of hope went out and dived to the ground in a magnificent suicidal leap of passion.  
  
Tears began welling up in those too-pretty violet-blue eyes, and Kyouya could swear he saw puppy ears poking out of the blond thatch of hair, drooping in disappointment.   
  
Oh dear.  
  
“Butbutbutbutbut _Kyouyaaaaa~~~!!!!_” their King wailed, leaping—leaping? no, waddling, gliding, _slithering_ maybe—at him to come to a stop somewhere in the vicinity Kyouya’s midsection, his ever-present clipboard and pen crushed to his chest as Tamaki nuzzled his side as if an attempt to convince him.  
  
Kyouya was not convinced.  
  
Tamaki wriggled.  
  
…And it wasn’t just for effect. The things, the thick, muscular-looking fleshy things _moved_, fanning out from the other boy’s lean hips in a wide bell of gently pulsating, tapering… ropes? cords? snakes? Coherency failed in the face of it all. They… they…   
  
Why were they _moving?_  
  
It never once occurred to him to ask how they’d gotten there, as anyone who had large amounts of money knew that nothing was impossible when one put their servants on the job.  
  
But Tamaki was looking up at him so pitifully, and the other boy’s eyes had gone so painfully wet and gooey like a kicked puppy that Kyouya relented slightly. “What is it _for?_”  
  
Popping up as if given the opportunity of a lifetime, Tamaki surged to his… well, not exactly to his _feet_, perhaps simple _upright_, if one were to put a word to the delicate balancing act of moving around with that nest of snakes, several of which were already up and flailing self-importantly in the air. It was if they were sentient enough to know to act as a perfectly distracting backdrop and frame for Tamaki’s glowing speech.  
  
And Tamaki glowed. Surrounded himself with several glinting gold sparkles and spangles in fact. Kyouya could have sworn he smelt a sudden wash of roses that sprang up behind the King. Well, no one had ever doubted Tamaki’s flair for the overdramatic.  
  
“I’M GLAD YOU ASKED!” Tamaki exclaimed, holding aloft a rose (that he miraculously pulled out of absolutely nowhere, of course) as though a Shakespearean dramatist with a skull, “It’s an _expression_, you see! A _celebration_! A magnificent display of the _beauty_ and _wonder_ of the natural world! It is our _duty_, you know, our _responsibility_ to see that such underwater magic is not lost on our blossoming flowers! _THINK_ of it, Kyouya!”  
  
Kyouya thought about it.  
  
Tamaki wriggled some more. If anything, his new… appendages… made him even more earnest and impatient-looking than ever.  
  
Kyouya’s frown deepened thoughtfully, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses.  
  
Tamaki quailed. A few of his… yes… _tentacles_… drooped. Could their King actually _control_ them?  
  
Kyouya sighed. Honestly, he generally he tried to humor Tamaki, it had been half of what kept him going through some of the King’s more ludicrous affairs with the unknown and the untried, but this? This was really, _really_ pushing it.  
  
“What was wrong with mermen then?” Surely that was more to the King’s style. Even if Kyouya would likely have refused the over-enthusiastic Tamaki access to a trident were it to come to such an event. The Host Club must keep up appearances after all, and accidentally whacking all and sundry with a pronged weapon simply would not do at _all_. And lawsuits were definitely far from profitable, all things considered.  
  
Tamaki paused. Evidently the idea had not come to him. But like so many others when the blond was set on something, the thought sluiced off like water, and he shook his head vehemently, “No, no, don’t you see? We couldn’t do that! We must do something new! Something exciting! Something great and grand and _UNEXPECTED!_”  
  
…A-hah. So Renge’s words _had_ stung.  
  
And Tamaki had ears again, tipped up and pointed to the ceiling. Kyouya was sure that if there was also a tail hiding somewhere behind that frothing bell of extraneous limbs, it would be wagging hopefully.  
  
He made a grand attempt at making a counter-argument. It was all on the tip of his tongue. He was _not_, after all, keen on decking himself out as a starfish.  
  
But then the King made that _face_ again, all young and round-eyed as if he were trying to give Honey-sempai a run for his loli-shota money, and Kyouya gave in.

Perhaps he could be an anemone.  
  
After all, far be it for him to stand in the way of the King’s sordid love affair with the strange and the bizarre. Half of being an Ohtori heir with over a hundred private police at his beck and call was to know when to give in, and when to bring forth doom and destruction on those who would cross him.  
  
And really, he thought distantly several minutes later when Tamaki was crushing the life out of him in a delirious rapture of utmost glee, it was actually sort of _right_ that the King be able to hug a person several times at once, wriggly bits and all.  
  
That was probably why Kyouya didn’t even pretend that he minded. He had more important things to worry about. For the moment, breathing was one of them.  
  
…Perhaps he would be a very _spiny_ anemone.

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, this was a bit of a rush job. But it was so SO FUN to get back into this wacky, wacky fandom.


End file.
